Cursed Black Pills
by Thrae Elddim
Summary: We all know that Davy Blair got bumped from the Titanic's roster the day or so before departure. This is how he came to appreciate the unintended favor, thanks to two black balls of who-knows-what from god-only-knows-where.


If I owned John Dies at the End or Titanic, this wouldn't be on .

Inspired by the madness produced when a Titanic-obsessed teenager reads John Dies at the End for the tenth time. Enjoy the results!

Be sure to review and tell me how I'm doing!

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><p>Davy Blair woke up with a groan. His head was throbbing and the rest of him ached like he had gotten in a fist fight with Goliath. 'And I report to Titanic today... Ah fuck...' he thought, opening his eyes.<p>

It was one thing to get drunk the night before work. It was another to get fabulously fucked up the night before sailing on the grandest ship in the world. He was going to have one hell of a- hey, what was that shiny thing?

Curious now, Davy crawled closer to it. It looked like a metal pill bottle, sleek and round. He poked at it curiously, wondering how it got into his apartment. Idly, he wondered how he got into his apartment last night. He poked the pill bottle.

The bottle was cold like ice. "Well you make no sense, do you?" Davy asked it. He must have still been drunk from last night, because he giggled at his own question. "No, no you don't sir," he chirped cheerfully, mostly to himself.

The bottle then shook. That made even less sense, including drunk-sense. Slowly, Davy backed away from it as it shook even harder. "I need to lay off the ale," he muttered to himself, watching the bottle as it stilled.

Unfortunately Davy had stopped backing away too soon, because when the lid shot open he was completely unprepared. It hit him on the nose, inciting a curse. "What the bleeding-" he stopped abruptly, seeing two little round balls shoot out of the container. They actually looked innocent, shiny and smooth like ink left out too long.

A sigh of relief. "You're losing it boyo," Davy muttered to himself, reaching out for the black orbs. He would put them in that little container and toss it all into the rubbish somewhere he would never see it again. Yeah, that sounded like a good idea. No need to keep something around to remind him that he was losing his marbles.

Then one of the balls grew fucking wings. That was the last straw for Davy, who jumped away yelling at the top of his lungs. "BLOODY FUCKING HE-" he was stopped by the winged substance from god-only-knows-where flying. And it was flying toward his face.

He ducked, hoping it would miss and splatter on the wall and die, or whatever this shit did. What he conveniently forgot was that there was another one. Only when it was too late did he remember, and by then it was forcing itself up his nostril.

It burned and itched and all he wanted was for it to get out! This was his nose, dammit! But instead, it crawled with itchy legs through his sinuses and then down his throat when it had the chance. Davy coughed, hacked and retched, but it wouldn't get out! By then the other hell-born ball of something had joined its mate in crawling down his throat.

'Oh fuck, fuck, fuck, I'm gonna die without even getting to work on the grandest ship in the world,' he thought, dreading the moment it made the journey to his stomach, 'I'll never see Mum again, and Lights will never be able to give me the five dollars he owes me and...' Davy's thoughts trailed off when his entire perspective somehow shifted.

There were three hundred and twenty six fibers in one yarn of the rug under his head. On the ceiling there was a fly with a tear in one of its wings. The next door neighbors were wondering if they should check on him.

"What the fuck...?" Davy asked himself hoarsely. How did he know all this...? The black blobs from hell came to mind and he spat and cursed like the sailor he was. Joseph Boxhall probably would have blushed even.

There was a knock on the door. "Are you alright?" called Mrs Peacock, the next door neighbor. From the subtle tones in her voice, Davy could tell that she was honestly concerned but something else had her remarkably happy. She was using her left hand to knock.

"I'm perfectly alright," laughed an imitation of Davy's normal voice. He was shocked that it was coming out of his own mouth. "Still a little drunk I'm afraid!"

"Well alright..." she trailed off. She was doubting his story. She walked back into her own home, and Davy breathed a sigh of relief.

A look at the clock revealed that it was already eight-thirty in the morning. And fifty-two and a third seconds. "Bugger me," Davy muttered, picking himself off the floor. Unfortunately the hell-pills had no effect on his balance, so he stumbled into a wall.

It took more time than usual to get ready. He was having a hard time even functioning past the extra noise he was hearing, the extra details now in his focus. Still, Davy was in perfect condition visually by eight-fifty. He locked the door and strode out.

Immediately he was assaulted by even more sensory details that he had never noticed. The news boy hadn't eaten in two days, and that was just a piece of bread, Davy could smell it. The tomatoes on sale were rotten on the inside. There was a pickpocket pretending to browse the pottery, it was obvious in his subtle body language.

Finally Davy reached the docks and reported, right on time. "Ah, Mr Blair," he was addressed by one Captain Smith, "Right on time, but unfortunately you're not going to be staying..." He was honestly sad to let Davy go, but there was a choice involved...

"What do you mean sir? Am I not Second Officer now?" Davy asked, although he already knew the answer. He was being pushed off the roster because the captain had wanted someone else on it. As Captain Smith explained what was going on, he closed his eyes and wished that things had gone otherwise...

There were screams all around him, and it was deathly cold. Davy's eyes snapped open, horrified by the noise. The deck beneath him was slanted, a huge deck. Four smokestacks painted in White Star Line colors, the sound of an unfamiliar voice yelling "No Will!" and a gunshot. More screams. Water was flooding the deck now, faster and faster as the ship tilted.

It was the fate of the Titanic, Davy knew with horror the moment he sighted James Moody attempting to free a collapsible boat from the roof of the officers' quarters. This grand ship was going to sink. And many, many people were going to die.

'No, I don't want to see this!' he thought, squeezing his eyes shut. It felt this time like he was being slung around. When he opened his eyes again, he was looking at the prow of a great ship, slicing ahead through the mud at the bottom of the ocean. He knew by the fact that there was no daylight to see by; it was a long way down.

Again, Davy closed his eyes. He just wanted to get back to Captain Smith explaining that he was being knocked off the roster!

"Mr Blair, are you quite alright?" asked Captain Smith's voice.

This time when Davy opened his eyes, he was standing right where he had walked to. Captain Smith was frowning at him, concern evident. He knew something was wrong.

"I apologize, I was just too excited to sleep last night," Davy lied. He didn't have to feign the sadness in his tone; it was there in full force. There was more wrong than the captain would ever dare to dream of...

"Well if that's it, go get your things lad," Captain Smith chuckled, "We'll be back for you next trip. I just wanted Mr Wilde with me as a precaution since he knows the Olympic-class better than Mr Murdoch..."

"Yes sir," Davy said, tapping the brim of his hat with his fingertips. Every step taking him aboard the ship was horror anew as the scenes he had seen replayed themselves. The screaming, the crying, the gunshots...

He barely acknowledged his former mates, although he was mentally telling them all goodbye. He couldn't stand knowing what would happen. He couldn't find it in himself to worry them all, to keep them from enjoying what may be their last days...

So deep was Davy into his thoughts that he even managed to reduce his suddenly heightened senses to normal level. It took a remarkably short amount of time to pack all his belongings aboard the ship. Without a word he exited the ship, hauling his sea trunk behind him.

Only when he was safely on the dock did Davy allow himself to slow down. For a moment he laid down his trunk to take a last look at the grandest ship in the world... And a shadow seemed to envelope it. 'On this ship there be monsters,' he remembered the part of an old tale, and it fit chillingly well. An even darker, man-shaped splotch of black on the bridge stared at Davy with smoldering, coal-like eyes.

Meeting its gaze, he shivered. It wasn't just the ship that was cursed, he found himself musing. That black hell-born substance that had forced itself down his throat cursed him as well.

Davy lifted his sea trunk once again, turned his back on the floating palace and walked away without a second glance. Only later that night did he realize he had the key to the binoculars in his pocket still, and at that realization he laughed hysterically.

They never would stop following Davy Blair, as long as he lived.


End file.
